


Nanny Who

by Erulisse17



Category: Doctor Who, Mary Poppins (1964), Mary Poppins - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Mary Poppins is a Time Lady, taking care of children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:31:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erulisse17/pseuds/Erulisse17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was called the Nanny. That's not to say she wasn't called other things as well, but Nanny seemed to fit her best. Her name reflected her hearts, her purpose, her passion - caring for children. And so, when she found the lonely Banks children, she knew one thing for certain - they needed a Nanny. <br/>Mary Poppins told from her perspective as a Time Lady. Eventual Mary/Bert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Manners

_“Manner may be, and, in most cases, probably is, the cloak of the heart; this cloak may be used to cover defects, but is it not better so to conceal these defects, than to flaunt and parade them in the eyes of all whom we may meet?” - The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness, A Complete Hand Book for the Use of the Lady in Polite Society_

* * *

 

She was called the Nanny.

That’s not to say she wasn’t called other things as well, but Nanny seemed to fit her best. It rolled off the tongue easier than Governess or Nurserymaid, and Nurse had come to mean other things besides one who looks after children – plus, it had a medical implication now that reminded her rather too much of a certain other Time Lord who shall remain nameless for now.

He shall remain nameless at the moment because she had resolved not to speak to or of him, even – no, especially in her own mind.

How that man irked her.

Not that it was anyone’s business, but in case there are questioning minds, which she believed should be encouraged generally (though there are exceptions, such as polite company, teatime, and any point of interaction with Vogons); he irritated her because whenever he was in her company he alternated trying to dazzle her with cleverness, show off his eccentricity, or brood in silence.

Not only was it a nuisance, but it was exceedingly poor manners.

How did he come up anyway?

Oh yes. His particular preference with Earth. If one could sort through all the rubbish that tumbled out of his mouth, one might believe that he was somehow appointed its sole guardian – simply because he been banished there for a regeneration or so was no reason to lay claim to an entire planet. Especially one that she had spent so much effort on.

Certainly he had saved the Earth a time or two, but what Time Lord hadn’t? Most of he had done was meddling, anyway. He might have saved the Earth, but she cared for it, and for its most precious resource.

Its children.

It was her calling, her purpose, the heart of her name.

No matter what ridiculous situations it resulted in (ranging from residing in footwear borrowed from the race of giants in a neighboring galaxy to a mishap that left her in the body of a Newfoundland (what she would have done to that flying boy if she could have spoken!)), she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Which brings us to the present moment, where she is nostalgic (an interesting phenomenon for a Time Lord, as they can experience nostalgia for both the past and future, or any combination thereof, depending on their timeline), and is reviewing her recorded aliases.

“Matilda, McPhee, Piggle-Wiggle. Aha!” She pauses the screen as the next name appears.

“Poppins, Mary. England, early twentieth century, I believe.” A smile tugs at her mouth as memories of the children she had helped, as well as some other… acquaintances wash over her.

“Now, who needs a Nanny?” 


	2. Chapter 2

_“ ‘A lady is never so well dressed as when you cannot remember what she wears.’ No truer remark than the above was ever made. Such an effect can only be produced where every part of the dress harmonizes entirely with the other parts, where each color or shade suits the wearer's style completely, and where there is perfect neatness in each detail. One glaring color, or conspicuous article, would entirely mar the beauty of such a dress. […] It requires the exercise of some judgment to decide how far an individual may follow the dictates of fashion, in order to avoid the appearance of eccentricity, and yet wear what is peculiarly becoming to her own face or figure. No better advice can be given to a young person than to dress always according to her circumstances. If neatness, consistency, and good taste, preside over the wardrobe of a lady, expensive fabrics will not be needed; for with the simplest materials, harmony of color, accurate fitting to the figure, and perfect neatness, she will always appear well dressed.”_

_\- The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness, A Complete Hand Book for the Use of the Lady in Polite Society_

* * *

“Now, who needs a Nanny?” She asked her TARDIS, which politely responded with a list of families and their preferences.

 “There.” She pointed, and the screen provided an Edwardian map of London, along with names.

As of 1910:

Children:

Banks, Jane, female, aged 11 Earth years

Banks, Michael, male, aged 10 Earth years

Parents:

Banks, George, Esquire; Banks, Winifred

Residence:

17 Cherry Tree Lane, London, United Kingdom, Earth

Details:

Six nannies engaged in the last four months

Current nanny due to leave in 16 hours

“Them.” The Nanny gave a satisfied nod. “They’ll do quite nicely.”

The TARDIS console began whirring and pinging in an efficient manner (she expected nothing less – she knew how one flew a TARDIS properly, not with alarms and screeching and emergency brakes, heaven forbid), as she adjusted knobs and rebalanced levels

“Traditionalist father works at a bank… a little on the nose, I’d say,” A voice commented as she perused the offered information. “Mother’s part of the suffragette movement, though. They must make an interesting pair.”

There was a polite chime from one of the receiving bays, and the Nanny went over to find torn pieces of paper. Shaking her head, she quickly mended the letter – no, the list of requirements, wiped off the soot, and scanned it.

“Wanted: A nanny for two adorable children.” She read aloud, then seriously considered whether she met the remaining requests. “Cheery disposition, kind, no warts (well, those were only prosthetics for the part), play games, fairly pretty, (well, not to boast, but I consider myself to be quite more than ‘fairly’), outings, treats, yes, yes, good.

“It’s decided then. This is me to a T.”

“What about not smelling like funny water, eh?”

The Nanny – no, if she was to be Mary Poppins, she must think of herself as Mary Poppins – Mary spoke without looking away from the list.

“You are aware that any kind of wood, sapient or not, is still capable of burning.”

“You wouldn’t!” The speaker looked quite mortified, a task rather difficult for the painted parrot that adorned her umbrella handle, but he managed it nonetheless.

Mary considered. While the wooden bird did have a remarkably cheeky way of speaking, the umbrella’s ability to control (well, convince and gossip with, more accurately) the Four Winds was rather invaluable.

“I might. Now hush. I need to prepare.” With that, she left the room.

As soon as she was reasonably sure the parrot handle couldn’t see her, she allowed herself a smug smile. A lady never allowed an adversary to get the best of her – she always kept her temper under firm control, and if the conversation grew too warm, she should either introduce a different topic of conversation or exit gracefully.

Entering her sizable closet, Mary strode purposefully toward the Earth section, carefully classified by era and class, and considered what to wear. The Banks family was well off, certainly, but not extravagant. Something modest, but becoming, was in order. She chose a sensible blue skirt, paired with a crisp, white blouse, suitable to the year and her supposed station, and adorned with a simple red bowtie (to be clear, _she_ thought of it first). Some dark tights and modest heels were next, followed by a warm woolen coat, a loosely knit scarf, and her favorite hat, decorated with cherries and daises. She looked at herself critically in the mirror, then nodded in approval. It would do nicely.

Locating her carpet bag, she checked to be sure that its link to the TARDIS closet was functioning. After placing the things she might need within easy reach, Mary adjusted her hat one last time, pulled on some white gloves, and walked spit-spot back to the control room.

She went through the various controls to ensure everything was in proper order, and set the TARDIS on Hover: Cloud (no stairs), and Invisible. Grabbing her sapient umbrella and ignoring the startled squawk, Mary stepped cautiously outside. The TARDIS-created cloud gave a little, but was otherwise firm. She walked toward the edge and sat down, placing her carpet bag on one side and sticking the umbrella next to her on the other, and checked her make-up. The fluffy white disguise drifted down toward London. Mary always made a point to settle the TARDIS up the atmosphere a bit, so that the landing sound wouldn’t be heard. No need to alert everyone in England she was here.

Finally satisfied with her appearance, Mary picked up her dark rain canopy and looked piercingly at the parrot handle.

“Alright, Parry. 17 Cherry Tree Lane. No delays this time, no matter how excited the East Wind gets.”

“Just wanted to show you the hurricane before it hit land is all. No need to hold grudges,” the parrot grumbled, then opened with a snap.

At first, nothing happened. Mary glanced reproachfully at the parrot, who simply stared back.

“Just give it a moment.” The parrot replied to her silent question.

All at once, the East Wind arrived with an enthusiastic breeze.

“There. Told you.” The parrot spoke to Mary with a touch of smugness, the addressed the gust. “Told her you were on your way. Ever so distrustful, that one. Now, what’s the latest?”

Mary shook her head slightly, turned her feet out in perfect form, and allowed the Wind to carry her off while it gossiped with Parry. As a tiny swirl of air brought the sound of an accordion to her ears, she couldn’t help but smile. She was quite ready to start a new adventure.


	3. Perceptions

_“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”_

_― W.B. Yeats_

* * *

 

The first time Mary Poppins met Bert, she thought he was a shadow.

She was making use of her Tuesday off to explore around her London home. After noting several parks and museums she could take the Liddell girls to, she suddenly realized that the sun was nearing the horizon. Looking around, she saw that the growing shadows had completely disguised the way back to her temporary place of residence. Mary paused. She wasn’t lost, (heavens no, practically perfect people _never_ get lost), but she was slightly uncertain of which road to take, which was a perfectly acceptable alternative.

“ ‘Scuse me, lady,” a voice piped up from the alley behind her.

Despite all the years of practice of noticing everything around her, every eon or so, there would be an instance of someone catching her off guard. This instance made her jump in the air and pause just a moment too long before she came back down.

A piece of the shadow emerged into the light, transforming into a young boy who was covered in soot from head to toe. His white teeth gleamed in contrast as he grinned sheepishly at her.

“Sorry, lady. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” The boy apologized, his eyes bright with curiosity, destroying Mary’s hope that he didn’t notice her aerial maneuver.

“I wasn’t frightened,” She responded automatically, examining the boy. “I was simply… startled.”

“Ya looked frightn’d enough, wot with you doin’ magic and all.”

Mary stared at him sharply. “Doing magic? I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His grin simply grew in response. “Aw, ‘s alright, lady. I ain’t never gonna tell no one.”

“Not going to tell anyone.” She corrected him absently.

“ ‘Zactly.” The boy agreed, then smiled even wider in an effort to win her trust.

Tilting her head at him, Mary asked, “What’s your name?”

“Bert, miss.”

She waited for a moment, then realized that he wasn’t going to elaborate.

“Your full name. Robert, or Bertram, perhaps?”

“Nah, just Bert’s enough f’r me.”

“Your family name, then.”

“Don’t got none.”

“You don’t have a last name?”

The sooty boy shook his head. “A family.”

Her hearts were struck with a sudden ache.

“You’re an orphan,” she managed to say.

Seeing her pained expression, Bert reached out to pat her arm. “There, there, miss. I don’t mind it none. I got a whole group o’ sweeps to look after me, plus all the other kids at the orphanage. Don’t you worry ‘bout me.”

Rallying herself, she asked, “Well, what on Earth are you doing out so late?”

“I’s lookin’ for you, miss.”

Mary blinked. That was not the answer she expected.

“Me? Whatever for?”

“T’ ask if you could do s’more magic!” Bert’s dark eyes gleamed up at her with a profound hope.

“Now, Bert,” she rebuked, “surely you know that even the thought of magic in this day and age is ridiculous.”

“No ‘s not.” The boy’s brows furrowed together seriously. “Magic’s in lots of places, if you know how to look.”

She couldn’t help a small smile. “Oh?”

“ ‘Ave you ever seen a sunset on the rooftops?”

Thinking back, she realized that she couldn’t really remember seeing many sunsets at all. Always off doing other things. Very practical and important things, to be sure, but still…

“No, I don’t believe I have.”

“Well, c’mon then!” He shouted, then grabbed her hand (rather impudently, if she thought about it), and pulled her further down the alley.

Moving quickly through the maze of London alleys and terraces, Bert eventually led Mary up to one of the higher rooftops.

“ ‘Ere we are!” The boy announced, then bowed with a flourish as he motioned for Mary to sit.

Attempting to hide her grin at his chivalry, Mary gathered her skirt and sat gracefully as Bert plopped down beside her.

“There, ya see?” He pointed to the horizon, where the haze from the surrounding chimneys turned the sun a bright red, and the neighboring clouds reflected hues of orange and purple.

“Bee-yoo-tiful, innit?”

And while she took a breath to correct him, Mary paused. The colors were changing, blending in with each other so one could not tell where the pink ended and the red began.

“Yes.” She replied instead, staring at the sun as it disappeared. She suddenly wondered how many sunsets (or suns-sets, or moonsets, depending on the planet) she had missed, and if they were all this beautiful.

A hacking cough suddenly came from her right, and she turned to see Bert try and stifle the sounds. Narrowing her eyes at him, she gently tapped his chest with her umbrella. The sonic detector hidden inside whirred quietly for a moment, then passed on their results to Parry (having a sapient device linked to a sonic sensor made things _so_ much easier), who murmured so only Mary could hear.

“Inflammation of the lungs, and the beginnings of asthma as well. Carcinogen levels concerning for an Earth child his age.”

“Hm.” Mary said aloud, then reached in her pocket to pull out her bottle of Historic Cure-All (a gift from one of her former charges, who invented the cures of all diseases prior to 2,003,594,180 as her thesis project for the Sisters of Plentitude) and a spare spoon.

Bert suddenly regarded her as if she held a snake.

“Wot’s that?” He inquired suspiciously.

“Medicine.” She answered briefly as she made sure her sonic detector selected the appropriate remedies and adjusted the taste.

“I’m fine, miss, hones-” Another coughing fit interrupted him.

Mary simply raised her eyebrow and offered him the spoon. Making a face, he begrudgingly accepted, then took a tiny sip.

Eyes widening, he gulped down the entire spoonful, then licked it one more time for good measure.

“If that’s wot medicine tastes like, I’ll have some every day!” He beamed at her, then asked, “How’d you get it to taste like raspberry tarts? Magic?”

Mary put the bottle and spoon back, then crossed her arms. “Now, there’ll be no more chimney sweeping for you – not until your body’s done growing, anyway.”

The boy pouted. “But wot’m I to do then? Lad’s gotta earn a livin’.”

“Well, what do you enjoy doing?”

“Sweepin’.” He answered impudently, then after Mary gave him one of her looks, he thought a bit more. “I do like drawin’. And singin’.”

“There you go. Screeving and busking are time-honored trades that favor the talented…” She looked at Bert’s crooked grin and added, “and the charming. You’ll do just fine.”

Bert thought about that for a moment, then nodded to himself. Internal argument settled, he turned back to her with bright eyes. “Now that I’ve showed you my magic, can you do yours now?”

“Now Bert, I have no idea why on Earth you think I can do magic.”

“I saw you!”

“No, you didn’t. I simply jumped because you startled me – it’s a perfectly normal-”

“Not that. I saw you flyin’!”

Mary paused. “What do you mean ‘flying’?”

“Outta the sky! No one else saw you, mostly because people don’t look up. I do though. The wind changed, and then I looked up and saw you floatin’ out of the clouds, like an angel. Only angels have wings, and witches have brooms, but you’ve got an umbrella, so I figure you’re magic.” He ended with a definitive nod.

“Clever lad,” Parry remarked quietly as Mary tried to find some way to get out of this.

“You’re no help.” She muttered to her painted parrot as Bert watched her with an expression of pure anticipation.

The bells rang out the time, and Bert started to swear, then quickly changed his mind as Mary shot him a withering stare.

“It’s just that I’ll be in a heap of trouble if I get caught sneakin’ back into St. John’s after hours. I’ve already got two strikes, and a third’ll get me kicked out.” He explained.

Mary sighed. Part of her already knew what she was going to do, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.

“Where is St. John’s, precisely?” She asked as she stood, dusting off the soot from her coat.

“Over there.” He pointed to a building that stood apart from the others, as if unwilling to associate with such dingy edifices.

She looked around until she spotted a likely candidate.

“Come along then.”

Bert glanced around in confusion. “But that’s the wrong way.”

Mary continued walking at a purposeful pace towards the ledge of a nearby roof.  “ _Gargoullis Petrificus_.” She remarked to herself as she drew closer. “Such a marvel to see one in its natural habitat. Well, I say natural, I should really classify it as its adopted habitat, though as a species they’ve adapted quite well.”

Bert gazed at her curiously, trying to make sense of any part of that last paragraph.

“Excuse me,” Mary politely tapped the stone decoration at the edge of the roof. “Might you be so kind as to give us some assistance?”

As only silence answered her question, she heard Bert mutter something very similar to “off ‘er rocker”. She tapped a little harder, and repeated her request.

Suddenly, one stone eye quickly darted to look at them, then resumed its former gaze, as if hoping no one would notice.

Bert openly gaped as the gargoyle blinked, then turned to face them, displaying a large mouth of sharp teeth and pointed ears. “Oh, it’s you, Nanny!” It declared in a voice that was gravelly, yet delighted. “Sorry for ignoring you the first time, but you can’t be too careful these days, what with society the way it is. I heard about some youths pushing off gargoyles for fun! In the daytime! You know, there was a time when we were respected, honored even. Ah, but back then, we all had the same values, see, and-”

“I do hate to interrupt, but we are on a schedule.” Mary said in a sort of tone that indicated that _the schedule must be kept._

“Oh, indeed. Very important, schedules. Help keep things timely. Well, hop aboard.” The stone gargoyle stretched and offered its back.

“Thank you.” Mary swung up, for all the world like she had ridden gargoyles all her life (in Bert’s rapidly reeling mind, she certainly could have), and offered Bert her hand.

“Come on then. Spit-spot.” She told him after he remained frozen in place. He tentatively took her hand, and once seated on the cold marble back, wrapped his arms around Mary Poppins like he would never let go.

“St. John’s Home for Boys, if you please.” She directed their host, and braced herself as the gargoyle launched into the air. Bert’s arms tightened, then relaxed as he stared out across his beloved London from this new viewpoint.

“Blimey,” he whispered reverently. Mary couldn’t help a small grin. He seems to adapt quickly to whatever situation he found himself in, a trait she approved of.

 _You know_ , a part of her mind commented, _given a few years, he would make an excellent-_

 _Don’t even think about it_ , she cut off the voice. _You’ve seen what having companions does to him. It changes them, not always for the better, and it breaks your hearts when they leave. And they always leave._

Another part of her, the one that knew she was not as practically perfect as she pretended to be, added softly, _It’s hard enough leaving the children._

 _Just a thought_ , the first voice responded.

“Ah, you should have seen London in the old days,” Came a narrating rumble from beneath, interrupting her internal debate. “The gleaming white marble, the shining pillars of society…”

All too soon, they reached the roof of the orphanage.

“Thank you very much, it was quite an enjoyable and educational ride.” Mary smiled at the creature after they had dismounted. “Say hello to Griffin for me.”

“Certainly will. No trouble at all, Nanny.” With a polite bow, the gargoyle turned and flew back to its original roof.

“Why’d he call you Nanny?” Bert asked as when the living statue was out of sight.

“Because that’s what I am.” Mary said as she pulled out her mirror and checked her hair. Flight did tend to disarray her hair something awful.

“He said it more that that’s _‘oo_ you are.” He persisted.

As Mary paused, her reflection turned to her and remarked “Perceptive lad, isn’t he?”

Sending a glare toward her mirror, Mary employed one of her best tactics.

She changed the subject.

“It is very late, and boys your age should be in bed. Go on, spit-spot.”

Suddenly exhausted, Bert turned and headed toward the door that would lead him back down to his ordinary bed, in his ordinary life. He looked back, and saw that she had opened her umbrella and was standing on the ledge.

“Mary Poppins!” He shouted, and waited until she had turned around. “You’re the most wondrous person I’ve ever met!”

She smiled the smile of one who is used to such descriptions, then suddenly got a twinkle in her eye. “And you are certainly the most interesting person I’ve ever met.” She replied, then stepped off the roof.

Bert ran to the edge and watched her float down. “Will I ever see you again?” He called after her, suddenly afraid he wouldn’t.

The grin she shot back was infectious. “Only when you least expect it.”


End file.
